The Symbols of Our Love
by SummerForever
Summary: Desperate for a way to save her family from poverty, Katniss joins the Work Referral Agency and is assigned to District 2. There, she meets two men who will change the course her life will take. AU. Katniss/Thresh, eventually Katniss/Cato
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** The Symbols of Our Love

**Characters:** Katniss, Cato, Thresh, Rue, Clove

**Pairings:** Katniss/Thresh, eventually Katniss/Cato

**Summary:** Desperate for a way to save her family from further destitution, Katniss joins the Capitol's Work Referral Agency and is assigned to District 2.

**Author Notes:** AU in which there are no Hunger Games, but the people are still miserable. Please be advised, this story has several mature themes, and as such, most of the characters in this story are adults (I just can't bring myself to write sex scenes about teenagers).

**Disclaimer:** Just borrowing. I'm looking for a good Beta, so until then, bear with me.

* * *

It had been a long day, and it was only mid-afternoon.

The Twilight Garden was a tiny café situated a few blocks away from the Stoneville Military Academy, home of the Peacekeepers' training grounds. Yet despite its elegant name, the café tended to cater to those of more limited means. As a result, most of the diners Katniss served were not the affluent citizens of District 12 or the elite cadre of officers, but quarrymen and other temporary workers like herself.

Her shift was supposed to have ended several hours ago, but Veenox had promised her overtime pay, and she needed the money. This job was all that stood between hope and despair for her family. The fence surrounding District 12 was now electrified 24 hours a day, which had prevented Katniss from hunting to keep her family fed. Though her mother had recently shown signs of improvement, she was too frail to return to full time work. Katniss had tried to get a job within her own district, but with so many people out of work, nothing was to be found. She had even gone to the coal mines looking for something – anything – that would allow her to put food on the table, but they had taken one look at her skinny frame and declared her unsuitable for the rigors of mining.

Things had seemed hopeless until two months ago, when she had walked by a sign outside City Hall on her way to the employment office. It was an advert for young, healthy workers that were needed for a worker shortage affecting Districts 2, 4, and 5. The positions were menial and the jobs temporary, but the pay was better than anything Katniss could hope for at home, so she had squared her shoulders and walked in.

It was hard being away from her family, especially her sister and Gale. Prim was the center of Katniss's world, and as much as it had pained her to leave, the thought of Prim starving was even worse. And Gale…dear Gale, who had tried to help Katniss as best he could, but he had his own family to take care of.

Right now, she was counting down the minutes until her shift was over. She willed the grizzled old man that she had been waiting on to finish his soup. She could have given him to another waitress, but she wanted his tip, however meager it would be.

"Hey Katniss, would you mind wiping down the bar?" It was Veenox, who sat at his own table finishing up a late lunch.

"Sure." She made her way behind the bar and grabbed some disinfectant and a cleaning rag. The nice thing about working the lunch shift was that there were no drinkers. But as much as she hated waiting on drunken quarrymen, she would be the first to admit that this job was better than many others. It was mindless, but she had wanted mindless. Her upbringing had left her little in the way of skills, and though she could hunt, that was not something she could admit to on her employment application. As bosses went, Veenox was tough but fair. He didn't treat her as badly as other employers often treated workers brought in from the outlying districts. He often let her take some of the leftovers home, he never talked down to her, and most importantly, he did not expect sexual favors from her.

Her roommate, Yara, was not so lucky.

Mechanically, she began to wipe down the smooth counter top as she blew her hair out of her eyes. Back home, her mother had trimmed her hair, but in the two months since she had moved here, her hair had grown longer. She had also put on a bit more weight, thanks to having two meals a day.

Looking up, she saw that the old man was finally finished eating. With a small sigh of relief, she headed over and took his empty plates, knowing that Veenox would see to his bill. She put the dirty dishes into the plate sanitizer, and when it started, she quickly the swept the kitchen floor and put away the items that had been left out. Her duties complete, she made her way into the small backroom where the employees kept their personal belongings and shrugged into her thin coat and boots. Though it was only autumn, Stoneville was a mountain town, so it always got chilly in the evenings. "Veenox, I'm taking off. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Take care, Katniss," came Veenox's voice.

She left through the back door, her boots clicking softly against the brick walkway. There was a brisk wind, and snow flurries danced in the air. _"_I need to get a coat," she muttered to herself. She hunched her shoulders and clenched her hands in her pockets. "Some gloves too."

_Who am I kidding? I can't afford a new coat_. Most of her meager pay was deposited into an account for her mother and sister, and only a bare minimum was kept for Katniss's own personal use. Part of that amount was automatically deducted for her room and board, so on most days, she was hardly left with anything at all.

Oh well. There was always the Depot. The quarrymen often sold and traded used goods there, so perhaps she'd be able to find something that was in decent condition.

The walk to her apartment wasn't very long, but it took her through the heart of Stoneville, District 2's largest town. Bluntly put, it was an unimaginative name for an unimaginative town populated by unimaginative people. District 2 might be the Capitol's pet, but the town didn't look like it. While the buildings were in better condition and the people better fed – all citizens were provided with at least two meals a day – Katniss had been surprised to see parallels between here and District 12.

Stoneville was dusty, though from the rocks, not coal. The air smelled of sweat, metal, and the rusty tang of blood. And while the townspeople were well dressed, they were in stark contrast to those who worked in the quarries. Her apartment was located near a downtrodden outside of town that reminded her of the Seam back home. Many families hovered near the brink of destitution, and most had no choice but to work in the quarries, where the work was often times as dangerous as the mines in District 12. Those lucky few who had escaped the life of a mason were driven to the military academy to train as Peacekeepers.

Katniss was so lost in her thoughts that she failed to notice the man coming around the corner. When she slammed into him, the contents of her purse went flying out while she fell over backwards.

"What's your problem?" snarled the man. "Are you blind?"

"No, I – " She looked up then and fell silent. Standing in front of her was the biggest, most monstrous man she had ever seen. He was well over six feet tall and built like an ox. Blond haired and blue-eyed, he would have been handsome if not for the ugly scowl blanketing his chiseled features. He was dressed in the black uniform that declared he was from the military academy. "I wasn't paying attention," she mumbled as she gathered her scattered belongings. "I'm sorry," she added.

Stoneville was a town of blond haired, blue-eyed beauties, and this man was obviously no exception. Feeling self-conscious, Katniss didn't need a mirror to know what she must look like. Her boots were scuffed, her coat threadbare, and her dress patched and faded from repeated washings. Her hair was no doubt falling out of its braid, and her skin was unfashionably tanned.

The man snorted. "I swear, every year the agency brings in a worse batch of workers from the year before." He looked down at her, his expression disdainful. "Looks like they've officially hit rock bottom." He carelessly stepped over her fallen items as he moved past, not even bothering to help her up.

It wasn't a new feeling for Katniss. She was used to people looking down at her; anytime she had ventured into the merchant's section back home, people had made it clear that nothing good came out of the Seam. And though the people of Stoneville didn't know anything about where she came from, it didn't seem to matter. They knew what she was worth anyway.

Nothing.

With a sigh, she finished collecting her belongings. It wasn't much, just lotion for her hands, some cream for her lips, anti-bacterial cleanser, and her identification cards.

A shadow fell over her.

If the rude man that had knocked her over was the biggest man she had ever seen, this was surely the second biggest. Except the first man had been light skinned and golden haired, while this one had skin as dark as teak and eyes the color of amber. But unlike the first, his expression was sympathetic, not cruel.

"You okay?" His voice was deep, and he spoke in a drawl that indicated he was from the south. Like her, his clothes were worn and faded.

"Yes, thank you," she said shyly. "I should have been more careful."

"You should be. They don't like us here. Think we're polluting their town. They need us, but they sure as shit don't want us." He offered her a hand. "If you cross them, they'll force the agency to let you go."

Katniss rose unsteadily. Her left elbow was throbbing from landing on it. "I know," she said. "It's not the first time I've had a run in with the people here, nor was it the worst." She released his hand, already missing the warmth of it.

"Are you sure you're not hurt?"

"No, just embarrassed."

He smiled slightly, but it transformed his serious features into something brighter. "My name's Thresh. I'm from 11."

At ease now, she smiled back. "Katniss. From 12."

"You work at the Twilight Garden. I've seen you before."

Katniss wracked her brain, trying to remember if she'd ever served Thresh. Surely she would have remembered a man his size and coloring in a town otherwise populated by pale blonds. He must have been able to read her expression because he added, "I've never been inside, but I go to the convenience store across the street sometimes."

"Trust me, you aren't missing anything."

Thresh looked at her, his eyes sweeping over her intently. "Maybe I am."

Her cheeks tinged with color, but this man's appraisal didn't bother her the way some other men's did. "I work there in the mornings and afternoons," she blurted.

His smile widened slightly. "I'll stop by sometime. But now I better get going, or else I'll be late for my shift. I'll see you around, Katniss from 12." With a wave, Thresh was off, moving with a surprising amount of speed and agility for a man his size.

Her footsteps much lighter, Katniss resumed her journey to her apartment. Thresh had given her the first genuine smile she had received since she'd left home. It felt…nice. Especially after her humiliating encounter with the man from the academy. At the very least, it proved that there were _some_ decent men left in the world.

By the time she got home, it was well after dark. Stoneville wasn't very strict about curfews, but Peacekeepers did occasionally harass agency workers who were out on the streets late at night. And while Katniss did have all the proper documentation, she had no wish to find herself under the scrutiny of the Peacekeepers.

Her building was near the edge of town, a rundown ten story tower that crammed in close to 200 workers. She lived on the second floor, for which she was grateful. The elevators frequently failed, so residents often had to take the stairs. Her small room was shared with Yara, a young woman from District 10. Yara worked the night shift as a cleaning lady at a nearby hospital, so Katniss usually had the room to herself. The room itself was square, with two twin beds, two narrow wardrobes, and a single desk and chair. Tenants were required to keep their rooms clean, but for most, this did not pose a problem. Many came from homes where they had to share even smaller spaces with their siblings, and very few had more than a handful of possessions, so clutter was rarely an issue.

Once in her room, she changed out of her work clothes and plopped down on her bed. She knew they were serving dinner in the cafeteria, but she was exhausted from her double shift, and her feet ached. While it went against her very nature to miss a meal – she knew better than anyone how it felt to go without food – she didn't think she could move another inch. And she would have to be at the café for the early morning shift tomorrow, which meant waking up at dawn.

Hopefully, Veenox would let her sample some of the breakfast biscuits tomorrow. He was usually generous about things like that. If not, Katniss was no stranger to going without food. She'd become spoiled these last two months since the agency fed workers twice a day. And anyway, it wouldn't hurt to remind herself where she came from and what she would eventually have to go back to.

Katniss drifted off to sleep soon after, dreaming of forests, Prim, and the man from District 11.

It was a good dream.


	2. Chapter 2

As always, reviews are appreciated!

* * *

There was smoke, garish orange light, and darkness – the type of room someone could vanish into, where the shadows were long and the memories short. The perfect place to steal a few moments of anonymity. Cato headed towards his usual booth, back in the corner, as far away as he could get from the windows. He didn't come here frequently, but just enough that the bartenders considered him a regular.

"Rough day?" asked the waitress as he passed her by. She was clearing a table, and though it was only early evening, she already looked tired.

"I'm fine, Mara," said Cato. He tried to edge by her, but she didn't budge.

"You don't look fine."

He sighed. Mara Adeane was nice enough, he supposed, but he really wasn't in the mood to chat about his problems. Unfortunately, she was one of the few people whom he couldn't intimidate. Maybe that was why he kept coming back here. She tried a different tack. "Want something to eat?"

"From this place?" He shook his head. "No thanks."

She grinned. "I'd make sure Hoot washes his hands before he starts cooking."

"I just want to relax."

Mara shrugged. "Suit yourself."

Cato winced when he glanced at the reflective mirror on the wall. His blond hair lay matted against his head, his blue eyes were sunken from exhaustion, his lip was split, and the skin around his left eye was bruised. Today had been an especially brutal day, for both him and his cadets. He continued to weave his way through the tables to the back. It was rare when he had the opportunity to kick back like this. He was simply "on" most of the time. As a civilian hand to hand combat instructor at Stoneville Military Academy, he had to be.

That was why it took him a few moments to notice her. She was slouched at the bar, her demeanor and attitude one of lazy patience. Cato changed direction and headed towards her. Slipping onto the stool beside her, he looked up at the bartender. "I'll have what she's having," he said as he indicated her glass of dazzling green liquid.

"Absinthe it is," said the bartender obligingly. After he left to fulfill the order, Cato turned to the woman at his side.

"Hello, Clove."

Her eyes flicked over him. "Cato," she offered.

"I didn't know you drank here." He discreetly examined her. The petite, dark haired woman was dressed in the same form-fitting black uniform as him. "Do you come here often?"

"Not really," she admitted. "I happened to come by it today."

Cato raised his eyebrows. "This isn't the kind of place people 'come by'." This much was true – he himself had found this joint last year by accident. His vehicle had malfunctioned a short distance away, and while looking for a repair shop, he had stopped here for a drink and had ended up coming back several times since. "Anyway, you really shouldn't carry those knives around open," he said, indicated the nasty looking twin knives dangling from her belt. "Peacekeepers don't like that, even from loyalists."

Clove tapped her fingers against the glass of her drink. "I'm not afraid."

"If you ate here, you would be." Cato glanced over at Hoot, who was wiping his hands against a grimy apron.

"I didn't plan on eating." Her lips curled. "And I'm hardly a loyalist."

No, he didn't suppose Clove considered herself loyal to anyone except perhaps him. Like him, she served as a civilian instructor at the Academy, but Cato knew that she would be quick to leave if she felt so inclined. She faced the future with no expectations, just a desire to make it through each day and see what tomorrow would entail. Cato was sure that if he asked her where she saw herself in a year, she wouldn't be able to answer. For now, Clove was content to wear the Academy's black uniform only because Cato did.

As long as he lived, he would never forget the day they had met. He had been twelve, and she ten. One afternoon, on his way home from school, he had taken a shortcut through several backend streets near the Rylls, where the illegal fighting pits were located. There, men fought each other – sometimes to the death – while others bet on them, with the fighter entitled to a share of the winnings if he won. Cato loved watching the fights, and sometimes he'd get paid for running the bet slips back and forth.

But that day, he had walked by an abandoned alley where an older man was standing over a small, forlorn figure on the ground. Cato hadn't understood at first what was happening, and the man – a drunken quarryman who had close to a 100 pounds on Cato – hardly spared him a glance. "Beat it, kid. This ain't your business." Cato had almost turned to leave, but the girl's gaze had met his. Her eyes had been dark and full of hope, and it had stopped the breath in his chest. When he heard the awful sound of the man unzipping his pants, Cato had unthinkingly grabbed a rusted pipe lying nearby and hit him on the knees. Taken by surprise, the man had howled in pain as he fell forward on his shattered kneecaps.

What Cato should have done next was take the little girl's hand and run to the nearest Peacekeeper. Or just run away, period. But the man's scream had awoken something dark and vicious inside him. He had felt it before, usually when he'd gotten angry, but this was the first time that he had wanted to do something about it. So Cato had swung the pipe down once more, this time aiming for the man's head. He had watched as his skull cracked open, and bits of blood and brain splattered over his clothing. The man had kept thrashing and whimpering, so Cato hit him once more, just to be sure the man was dead.

The entire time, the little girl had remained still, watching him calmly. And when Cato was finished, she held out a small white hand. "Can I have a turn?" She had three turns of her own before she finally dropped the pipe. "I'm Clove," she said with as much childish dignity as she was able. The hand she had offered to him was as bloody as his.

There had been an instantaneous sense of rapport between them, the inexplicable thing that happened only rarely when two people met. It had nothing to do with their common origins or the circumstances in which they had met. Neither had it anything to do with attraction. It was simply there, some compelling invitation coursing between their clasped hands. _Here_, it seemed to say, _is someone I feel good with_.

Thirteen years later, nothing had changed.

"Here you go." The bartender placed Cato's drink in front of him. He lifted the absinthe to his lips, and at first sip, his eyes crinkled at the taste. He had tried absinthe before, at the retirement ceremony of the Academy's previous commandant. And though he had a high tolerance for alcohol, a few sips of absinthe were enough to affect even a man his size. It was a dangerous drink because it was so easy to get lost in its green depths. Many people had sought oblivion in absinthe and had found it too well.

"It's bitter, isn't it?" Clove took a sip of her own drink. She nodded at the bartender. "He makes it stronger than I prefer."

"It's not what you usually get," he commented. "Most times you get those fruity things, with the umbrella in it."

"I do not." But she said it half-heartedly, for once not snapping back at his teasing. They sat together quietly for awhile until she broke the silence with, "So what's a nice boy like you doing in a joint like this?"

"I could say the same for you."

"Not really," she replied with a small, mysterious smile. "What really brings you down to these parts? This isn't exactly a hotspot for hotshots."

Cato gazed at his drink, suddenly losing all desire for it. He had been so wrapped up in trying to figure out why Clove was here that for a few brief moments, he had forgotten why he himself was here. "I had my annual review today. Guess how it went."

Her dark eyes flashed knowingly. "They passed you up again, didn't they? Let me guess, they gave it to some townie who doesn't know one end of a sword from another."

He pushed his drink away, and resting his weight on his forearms, he leaned forward on the bar. "They gave it to Gawain."

"You want me to take care of him for you? He can't be in the field if he's disabled. Or dead." Clove wasn't joking.

"Doesn't matter. They'll never let me enlist." The Academy's official reason had been that he had anger control issues. Which was true – the smallest incidents could push Cato into a rage. But there had been far more brutal and ruthless officers at the Academy. A few years ago, one of the captains had paralyzed a cadet during a sparring session, and it hadn't even been a blip on his career. The underlying reason that the Academy review board kept passing him over was because of his medical condition.

District 2 prided itself on its martial culture, and as such, most boys grew up dreaming to be a Peacekeeper. Many of the people here were ardent supporters of the Capitol, and thus the 20 year commitment period was considered not a punishment but an honor. Men who returned after the competition of their obligation received a generous pension and had their pick of women. Additionally, if a man was chosen to enlist, the Capitol would make sure his family received adequate compensation for the wages he would have earned otherwise. Because of the benefits, many young men clamored to become Peacekeepers. But there was more supply than demand, so only one in a dozen would be chosen. And more often than not, the Academy chose its District 2 recruits from the wealthier townspeople. They only looked to the quarry when the yearly recruiting quota was not met.

Cato had grown up as the son of Vorian, a master stone mason. Vorian had been a simple man, and he had expected simple things of his only child. Though life was hard, his parents had been happy. They lived in a small, ramshackle house in the area known as the Tor, where the quarrymen and their families lived on the outskirts of Stoneville. And had things gone according to his father's wishes, Cato would be at the quarry right now, preparing to go home to a house and family of his own. But Cato had wanted more from his life. He wanted to be a soldier, wanted to wear a white uniform and command other men. Cato wanted to be _somebody_.

Things had looked promising. He'd grown faster than other children his age. He was strong and agile, and he was a quick learner. He had practiced with whatever weapons he could find in the Tor, mostly sticks and pipes, but when he was older, knives and a blunt sword. The adults feared him. So did his parents. The day of his sixteenth birthday, he had gone to the Academy's recruiting office against his father's wishes, proud and ready. The recruiters had taken one look at his large frame and hungry eyes and had moved his application to the top of the pile. Cato had passed the physical portions of the exam with ease, and despite his spotty schooling, he'd scored fairly well in the academic portion as well. His psych test had gone as expected – he was a brutal boy, and he was proud of it.

But then came his medical exam. The doctors said he had heart valve disease, and while it wasn't fatal, it was enough to prevent him for enlisting. Though there were treatments – the Capitol had the technology to fix far worse problems – Cato's family would never be able to afford the procedure. The Academy could have footed the bill, but with so many other healthy recruits to choose from, they had opted not to. And that had been the end of Cato's boyhood dream. He would never wear the white Peacekeeper uniform. Though he had kept trying, the Academy's position hadn't changed. He was good enough to teach but not good enough to wear the uniform.

"So why are you here?" he asked, wanting to change the subject.

Clove was silent as she drank some more. For such a small person, she handled the absinthe amazingly well. "It's the two year anniversary of Jarl's death," she said finally.

"I'm sorry," he offered awkwardly, cursing himself for not remembering. A rangy dark-haired boy from the Tor, Jarl had been Clove's lover. He'd been executed for distributing anti-Capitol materials to the quarrymen.

She blinked, not shutting away tears, since Clove did not cry, but perhaps a possibility, a memory, of tears. "Jarl was a traitor and deserved what he got." She tossed back the rest of the drink. "Listen, I'm heading over to the Rylls. Wanna come with? You know, for old time's sake?"

As children, he and Clove had loved going to the fighting pits. After his rejection by the Academy, he had found solace in the pits themselves, taking out his anger on his opponents. It was how Brutus, the current commandant of the Academy, had found him and Clove. "Last time I went, the fighters were so weak that I could have knocked them over with a single breath." Cato slid over his ID card to the bartender. "Just put everything on mine."

"Thanks." Clove slid off her stool. "You haven't seen the recent batch. There's this one guy from the quarry. He's huge, almost as big as you. And I bet he's just as vicious."

His interest peaked, Cato followed her out of the bar. Clove wasn't prone to exaggeration, so clearly this man had made an impression on her. "How come I've never seen him before? Men my size usually stand out, sweetheart."

"He was brought over from District 11 because of the worker shortage. I think his name is Thresh." She grinned at him, her expression wolfish. "So how about it?"

It _had_ been a long time since he'd been in a fight with someone who could challenge him. And the prospect of hitting flesh and spilling blood never failed to excite him. "Let's not keep him waiting."


End file.
